


Through the Fire

by Alisienna



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-05 00:04:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3097532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alisienna/pseuds/Alisienna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taken from her family when she began to show signs of magic, young apprentice mage Asha Trevelyan must make a decision: will she leave the Circle with her lover and turn apostate?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 9:30 Dragon, 18th Day of Cloudsreach

9:30 Dragon, 18th Day of Cloudsreach (The Fifth Blight Begins)

_Dear Brod,_

_Sorry I haven’t written in a while. Between the increased coursework Enchanter Mahariel sets after her apprentices turn seventeen and the Knight-Commander cracking down on rule violations it has been hard for Ser Oswyn to get letters out for me. I hope he finds you well when he delivers this one._

_Life continues much as it has. I miss you, and Mama. But that’s nothing new. I was glad to hear that your –_

The candle on Asha’s small writing desk guttered out. “Shit,” she muttered. _This room is always so damp._ She snapped her fingers almost on reflex, pushing out a tiny amount of her will to re-light the candle wick. Light filled her corner of the room she shared with three other apprentices, all of whom were either asleep or out past curfew. Asha set down her quill and stretched. It had been a long day, filled with lessons and running errands for Enchanter Mahariel. But Asha couldn’t rest yet. Ser Oswyn was leaving in the morning to go into the city, and so she had to finish this letter tonight in order for him to be able to deliver it to her brother. Asha picked up the quill and resumed writing.

_I was glad to hear that your betrothed was not what you feared. The way you describe her, she sounds perfect for you. I hate that I won’t get to see your wedding. I can scarcely imagine you as a husband, but I have faith you will rise to the occasion! It is sad that I will never be allowed to marry. I am still not sure why that is; perhaps the Templars believe that if we mages had families of our own, we might have more reason to fight against their control. As if we didn’t have enough reasons already! Having magic is all well and good, but to be under such scrutiny almost every minute of our lives…in my darkest moments, I almost believe giving in to the demons would be preferable to suffering another abuse at the hands of a Templar. Just last week –_

A soft knock on the door interrupted Asha’s writing. _Is it that late already?_ Asha got up from her desk – carefully, so as not to wake her roommates – and peered out the crack created as she eased the door open. The hallway was dark as they were in an inner part of the Circle that had no windows, but Asha could still make out the slender frame and wild spiky hair of Tristan, her closest friend in the Tower. She opened the door wider, motioning for him to step inside the room, and then eased it closed behind him.

“Give me just a minute. I have to finish this letter and then we can go,” Asha whispered. Tristan nodded and sat down on her bed. Asha reseated herself at her desk, crossed out the beginning of her last sentence, and dashed out a few final words to her brother. Asha sanded the page and then blew carefully on the ink so it wouldn’t smudge. The flame on the candle flickered and guttered out again. Asha shook her head but didn’t bother re-lighting it. She folded her letter but didn’t seal it; she never minded if Ser Oswyn read her letters, not that she thought he actually would. He respected her privacy and trusted her judgment. It was one of the reasons he carried letters for her in the first place.

Asha touched Tristan’s sleeve to let him know she was ready to go. He stood up and took her hand in his, intertwining their fingers and giving them a light squeeze. She couldn’t see his face, but she could feel his gaze on her and blushed. Together they moved toward the door. Tristan bumped his knee on one of the bedposts, and they both froze. One of Asha’s sleeping roommates gave a light snore and rolled over, but neither of the two fully woke. Asha and Tristan tiptoed to the door and out into the hallway. After checking to make sure the way was clear of Templars, they headed toward the end of the hall, keeping close to the wall. Asha counted the steps in her head, stopping when she had taken thirty-two. She felt along the wall for the handle to the door, careful not to make any unnecessary noise. Tristan stood close behind her, and she could feel the tension rolling off him in waves. The consequences for apprentices caught out of their rooms after curfew were severe, but that was part of the thrill. Mages in the Circle subsisted mostly on small rebellions and the hope that things would one day be better. Her time with Tristan was what kept Asha going.

Her hand finally found the door handle. She turned it and pushed, then darted inside the small closet beyond, pulling Tristan with her. Once the door was closed, Asha allowed herself a small giggle.

“Are you all right?” she breathed to Tristan.

“Yeah, nothing but a bruise. I’m sure I will forget about it soon enough,” he whispered back. She couldn’t tell but she was pretty sure he winked when he said it. She felt herself blushing again.

“Come on, night’s wasting.” She knelt down at the back of the closet and felt around until she found the catch that would open the wall just enough for them to crawl through. The Circle at Ostwick was housed inside a very old castle that used to belong to a noble family who lived in the city. No one was quite sure what happened to the last members of that family, but somehow the castle was empty and ownerless, and the city’s Viscount gifted it to the Templars. Whoever it was that built the castle had incorporated several hidden tunnels that lead to spaces underneath the lowest floors, probably intended to be bolt holes in case of invasion. It was to one such space the apprentices were headed now. Asha and Tristan had found it by accident a few months ago, when they had been hiding out in the closet together.

The two of them crawled through the space in the wall. It was only a few feet before they were able to stand. Tristan was slightly shorter and was able to stand up nearly straight, but Asha, who was tall for a girl of seventeen, had to hunch her shoulders to fit. Tristan murmured a word and summoned a small light that floated above his palm. He turned to Asha and grinned.

“Mind your head, ye mighty oak,” he teased her in a low voice. Asha swatted him on the arm.

“Oh, stuff it and get a move on!” she replied, although she couldn’t help grinning herself.

Tristan chuckled and turned to lead the way down the tunnel. It took them about five minutes and many twists and turns to reach the space they had claimed as their own. It was small, barely large enough to be called a “room.” There was enough room for them both, and that was all that mattered, really. The ceiling was low and mostly smooth, although whoever had originally built it hadn’t bothered with plaster or any other finishing materials. They were underground, but somehow the air wasn’t damp. The two of them had managed to smuggle some small comforts down from upstairs: a few pillows, some small taper candles and a single holder, and two worn but comfortable blankets they had spread on the floor. The bedding had been Asha’s idea. Every few weeks or so, she would approach one of the Tranquil mages who were in charge of the Circle’s stockrooms and ask for a replacement pillow. “…Because I accidentally burnt mine to cinders doing a magical experiment! I promise I will be more careful next time!” Tristan acquired the blankets; she never asked him how.

Asha knelt and set a taper in the holder, and then lit it with her will. The light was soft but enough to fill the small space, and now she could see Tristan more clearly. She smiled a little; his brown hair was always so unkempt – another of his small rebellions. Most of the mages in the Circle wore their hair longer, but he was forever cutting his before it grew too long, usually choppy cuts with odd angles that he would then cause to stand on end. The result was striking, especially when paired with the serious apprentice’s robes they were all required to wear.

Tristan waved his hand and dismissed the wisp he had summoned earlier. “Alone at last!” he said sotto-voice as his eyes crinkled in amusement. _Maker, his eyes._ The grey-blue color of storm-tossed seas, Asha could lose herself in them forever. Sometimes she felt like she did. Asha laid back on the blankets.

“Care to join me?” she asked, patting the space next to her. Tristan considered for a moment, and then his face broke into a wide grin. He fell on top of her, catching himself before his weight could hurt her.

“I prefer this space, thank you very much,” he said. She giggled as he ducked his head to her neck and began to nibble there. They stopped talking for a while.

 

* * *

 

Afterward, they lay in each other’s arms in the darkness (the candle had long since gone out). Asha sighed contentedly as Tristan’s hand stroked her hair.

“We have to go back soon. The others will miss us eventually,” she said. Even as she tried to keep her tone matter-of-fact, she was sure he could hear the wistfulness in her voice.

“Bah! They would have to turn themselves in as well as us if they wanted to get us caught. The first question out of any Templar’s mouth would be ‘Why didn’t you notice when they left?’ We can stay a while longer.”

Asha snuggled in closer to him, quiet for the moment, just enjoying being with him.

“We could run away, you know.”

Asha sat up, startled. “What? You’re mad! We would never make it! The phylacteries, not to mention the extra watches they’ve set in recent weeks due to the news out of Ferelden!”

“We could! I’ve been doing some research, and I think I know a way to block the phylacteries from being used.” Tristan’s voice grew more urgent. “I want to be gone from this place. I want to leave the Free Marches. I want _my own life_ ,” he growled the last. “And I want it with you.”

Asha’s heart leapt at these words, even as dread began growing deep in her belly. She pushed her will at the candle and flame sprang to life on the wick. Narrowing her eyes, she asked, “ _What_ research?”

Tristan met her gaze steadily with his own. His storm-tossed eyes flashed defiance. “There is a way. It requires effort, but it can be done.”

Asha’s breath caught in her throat. _Oh, Maker, not him. Not my Tristan._ Out loud: “It’s all well and good to dream, Tris…”

“I am not dreaming! I am deadly serious,” Tristan cut her off with a sharp wave of his hand. “Come with me.”

Asha found herself shaking her head. “No, Tris, I can’t…You know what that means? Blood magic, opening yourself to the Fade and the things that live there? You would lose yourself!” She grabbed his hand, her eyes pleading. “Please, can’t things just stay as they are?”

Tristan shook his hand out of her grip and stood. He started pulling on his robes. “No, Ash, they can’t stay as they are. I shouldn’t have told you. I had hoped you would’ve wanted to leave this place behind. But I guess I should’ve known you wouldn’t want to leave, what with your excellent marks and your precious _Ser Oswyn_ ,” he spat his name like a curse.

Asha bristled. “That’s not fair! Don’t bring him into this! He’s nothing to you,” she said, her voice rising.

“No, but he’s everything to _you_ ,” Tristan fired back, almost shouting now. “What is it about him, anyway? Doesn’t it mean anything to you that he stole you from your family? Made you come here and live in this damnable castle, all for the crime of being born the way you are? Doesn’t it anger you?”

“Of course I hate it here, but…Ser Oswyn was only doing his duty,” Asha began.

“Doing his duty!” Tristan snarled, his beautiful face made ugly with contempt.

“Yes, his duty! He took vows! He’s an honorable man! And he has been kind to me, more than I deserve. He’s not like the other Templars; he sees us as humans! If you were not so biased you might see that!”

“Hmph. He is still your oppressor. You should want away from him.”

“He did bring me here. He did take me from my family. But he was doing it to protect me, and to protect them. And if he hadn’t…”

“What?”

“I wouldn’t have met you.”

Tristan’s shoulders slumped. He knelt back down beside her and took her in his arms. Asha felt her eyes welling with tears.

“I’m sorry, love. I’m just so….this whole system is flawed. We should be able to be together, and not in this dank hole. I want to be with you in the sunshine, in a field, on a farmstead, working the land and raising children together in the middle of nowhere where no one can bother us. I just want…anything but this.” His voice caught in his throat.

Asha felt those tears spill over onto her cheeks. She hugged him tighter. “I know, Tris, I know. But blood magic…that’s too far. The cost is too high.” She felt him relax a little under her hands.

“You…may be right. I will keep working on it.” He pulled back and met her eyes. “If I find another way, will you come with me?”

“Yes.” Asha couldn’t help herself. She nodded and wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “Yes, if you can find a different way, a less dangerous way, then yes, I will come with you. Of course.”

Tristan smiled then, and seemed to return to his usual cheerful, don’t-give-a-damn attitude. He stood and offered her his hand. “Well, then, that’s settled. At least, for now! Let’s get you dressed and back to bed, my lady. We wouldn’t want you to be missed,” he said with a wink.

Asha smiled back and took his hand, but her heart was still disquiet. Hopefully this would be a passing phase, another outlet of his rebellion against all the injustice he saw around him, real or imagined.

 


	2. The Garden

9:30 Dragon, 4th Day of Bloomingtide

_Mana is that which defines a mage. It is potential that dwells within a person but does not always manifest itself. All men are connected to the Fade; we go there to dream. But only those with this potential may draw upon its power._

_Mana is, then, a measurement of one's ability to draw power from the Fade, and it is this power that is expended in magic._

_As in all other things, it has limits. Just as a man has the strength to lift only so much weight and no more, a mage cannot work more magic at one time than his mana allows. If he wishes to work magic that would be beyond his strength, a mage must bolster his mana with lyrium. Without lyrium, it is possible for the reckless to expend their own life-force in the working of magic, and occasionally, ambitious apprentices injure or even kill themselves by over-exertion._

\-- From the Lectures of First Enchanter Wenselus

Asha stared at the page on the desk in front of her, reading and re-reading the prompt. She had until the hourglass on Enchanter Mahariel’s desk ran out to write her exam essay, and she just could not get started. The words began to blur as her eyes glassed over. Yawning, Asha shook her head to clear it. _I know a thing or two about over-exertion._ Smirking, she attempted to return her attention to her essay without much luck. She was simply too tired.

Asha knew she should’ve gone to bed last night rather than sneak out with Tristan again, but she couldn’t help herself. It was stupid how important he was to her. She tried to tell herself they were just friends and they were only working their natural urges out of their systems. It shouldn’t be anything more than that. _Couldn’t_ be anything more than that. Romantic liaisons between mages were strictly forbidden, although the Templars knew they happened anyway. If a mage were ever to be found with child, she was isolated from the others until the child was born, and the child was always taken from her and sent to foster with a family outside the Circle. Most of the time, the children were never seen by their parents again. Mages were certainly never allowed to marry. What was happening between her and Tristan was futile, and they both knew it.

This was not new knowledge. Asha had always known that she had no hope of ever experiencing the kind of love she had dreamed about as a little girl, the love the princess got in the stories her mother used to read to her before bed. It actually surprised her a little that she remembered those; it had been eight long years since she had even seen her mother, or heard her voice, or read a bedtime story. The mages didn’t really keep much fiction in the Circle libraries. _Maker forbid we have dreams of a better life_. Asha snorted.

“Asha?” Enchanter Mahariel’s voice broke the silence in the room with a whip-like crack. Asha started and looked up toward the front of the room. _Does she ever get her face out of that disapproving scowl?_

“Do you require assistance with your essay?”

“No, Madame Enchanter.”

“Then you will kindly refrain from disturbing your fellow apprentices.” Enchanter Mahariel’s glower deepened, if that was even possible.

Inwardly, Asha seethed at the public upbraiding. Outwardly, she nodded her head in what she hoped was a meek and subservient manner and said, “Yes, Madame Enchanter,” before returning to her work.

_Mana is that which defines a mage. It is potential that dwells within a person but does not always manifest itself. All men…oh, blast it all!_

Asha gave up trying to compose a sensible essay and quickly wrote down enough words to satisfy the length requirement. After sanding her page and blowing on the ink so it wouldn’t smear, she rolled up her “essay” and gave it to Enchanter Mahariel before quietly exiting the room. She would probably pay for the poor quality of her writing later with extra work, but at that moment she just could not care. All that mattered was that it was still light out, the weather was nice, and the garden at the center of the castle tended by the Formari was just beginning to bloom. Asha cheered up at the thought of taking a good book outside and spending the afternoon doing some quiet reading. She headed down the hallway to do just that.

As she was walking down the corridor towards her dormitory, she spied Tristan coming towards her, walking in the opposite direction. She tried to catch his eye and give him a secret smirk, but he was actively avoiding her gaze. He angled himself towards her as he came closer, and bumped into her hard enough to almost knock her down. He caught one of her hands in his as if to steady her.

“Apologies, my lady,” he said, finally meeting her gaze. He pressed something small into her hand. Her eyes widened and she just nodded. He dropped her hand and continued walking past her.

Asha shoved her hand in her pocket and kept walking. When she reached the garden she headed for her favorite reading spot, in the shade of a massive oak tree off to one side. The air still held leftovers from last night’s chill, but the sun was without the interference of clouds so it was still warm enough to enjoy oneself. It was one of those perfect days of spring, when the tree branches were just beginning to don their summer covering of leaves and the air smelled of sweetly blooming flowers. The sunlight filtered down through the branches and made dappled patterns on the grass. Asha sat down with her back against the oak and pulled out one of her books. She carefully extracted the note from her pocket, keeping it hidden behind the cover of the book.

_A –_

_Tonight. You know where. Two hours after curfew._

Asha frowned and slipped the note back into her pocket. She would destroy it later; it wouldn’t do to just start burning paper in the middle of the garden, even if there really wasn’t anyone around. Tristan was always deadly serious about their intrigues; she wasn’t sure if that was because he was worried about being caught, or if he was simply staging yet another small rebellion. She played along with it, though. No harm in being careful, and it made him happy. She would do much worse to make him happy.

The terseness of the note had her worried, though. Especially on the heels of their last discussion. Usually when Tristan initiated their liaisons in such a fashion, there was some small indication of his purpose. A tiny flirtation, or a veiled allusion to their…pastimes.  This time, there was nothing. Just a time and a place.

She was still frowning down at her book when she heard the clink of armor behind her.

“Does your reading trouble you, Apprentice?”

Asha smiled. “No, Ser Knight, only bores me.” She turned and looked up at Ser Oswyn, squinting her eyes at the glare from his armor. He was so fastidious, polishing his armor until it shone even in candlelight.

“Walk with me?” He extended a hand toward her, and she took it as she stood to her feet, still grinning.

“For a little while.”

They began strolling along one of the paths delineated by the carefully-tended shrubs and flowering plants. It was still early enough in the season that there were not too many buzzing insects to bother them, but late enough that buds were beginning to show on some of the plant stems. The garden was a special place, tended for generations by the Formari, Tranquil mages who use the various seeds and leaves in their alchemical creations. Asha appreciated the balance between beauty and practicality that existed there. It mirrored how she hoped others perceived her.

“So what is on your mind, Asha?” Ser Oswyn asked. He attempted an air of casual inquisitiveness, but Asha knew him too well. He was fishing.

“Oh, mostly lessons. Right now Enchanter Mahariel has us studying the schools of Entropy and Creation. More specifically, how they balance one another. It’s an interesting topic, but not one I’m personally fond of.”

“Yes, your tastes run more toward the Primal school. Specifically, fire.”

“Ugh, will you ever let me live that down?”

“Probably not.”

“Should I apologize for accidentally setting fire to the Chapel again? It really was an accident, you know.”

Ser Oswyn laughed. “No, my dear. But it’s nice to know you are more controlled these days.”

Asha sighed. “Yes, I was a willful child. But who could blame me? I was ten when you took me from my family. Old enough to know what was happening, why, and that I couldn’t stop it.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and caught his grimace.

“Do I have to apologize again for that, Asha? Had I any choice, I would have chosen differently. But you know the Chantry’s laws.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Yes, yes, I know. For my own good, for my family’s safety, for the good of Ostwick.”

Ser Oswyn stopped and took her hand. “Asha, I want to say something. You could have resented me forever. You could have set fire to the whole of the Circle had you wished. But you did not, and I will always be grateful to you for that. And proud of you.” He squeezed her fingers gently as he smiled at her.

Asha returned his smile, and gave a squeeze of her own. “Well it’s only because you’re so damn nice all the time. I would feel guilty for hating you.”

His grin widened. He dropped her hand and chucked her under the chin in a fatherly gesture, then gestured for her to continue walking down the path. A gentle breeze stirred the trees above their heads, and Asha closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in the fresh air and enjoying the sunlight on her face.

“So when are you going to tell me who he is?”

Asha’s eyes flew open. “What?”

“Oh, I may seem old to you but I’m not so old I don’t remember being a young man. There is a boy.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Asha started walking briskly down the path, carefully smoothing her face into a neutral expression. She could hear him move faster to match her pace.

“Asha, I’m not blind, nor am I stupid. I’m also not angry. I just want to make sure you are…being careful.”

She stopped at that, turning to face him. Her eyes narrowed warily. “How do you mean?”

Ser Oswyn did not look angry, only worried. “Asha, setting aside all the normal worries about … such behavior, you are a mage. Normally, such things would be overlooked for the greater good. But the Knight-Commander is becoming more and more strict, especially in light of the fact that we may be facing a true Blight in the coming months. You cannot afford to be caught…unawares.” His face blushed slightly, but his eyes remained deadly serious.

Asha’s face softened. “Oswyn, I…” _No. Best not._ She straightened and returned to her neutral expression. “Thank you for your concern, Ser, but it is moot. There is no one. Only my lessons.”

“Asha…”

“I must bid you good day. I have much reading to finish before my next class.”

She turned away from him quickly, heading back to her tree to gather her books. Her hand drifted to her pocket. She jerked it down as soon as she realized what she was doing. She would have to destroy that note as soon as possible. Blinking back angry tears, she gathered her things and rushed back to her dorm, not speaking to anyone along the way.

 


	3. The Decision

Tristan was pacing in the small cell they called theirs when Asha arrived, a few minutes past the agreed time. The light from a single taper flickered in his wake, casting the room in dancing shadows. He had folded the blankets and stacked them in the far corner, along with the pillows, a not-so-subtle indication of his intentions for the evening. _Or lack of them,_ Asha thought ruefully. She stepped fully into the room, feeling the dread in the pit of her stomach. What was he going to want to talk about?

He looked up when he heard her enter and crossed the room in two quick strides. He folded her into a fierce hug and kissed her, then immediately released her and resumed his pacing. Asha froze, startled by his abruptness.

“What is wrong with you?”

“Me? Oh, nothing. Everything. I don’t know.” Tristan stopped suddenly and met her eyes. His face was neutral but his eyes were intense, filled with what Asha thought was a mix of anger, fear, and most of all, resolve. The first two she could deal with. The last one frightened her.

“Talk to me.”

“I will. I have to. But I need you to promise me something first.”

“Alright, whatever you need, just tell me what’s wrong.”

“Promise me you won’t speak of our conversation. To anyone.”

Asha scowled at him. “You ask me to meet you with cryptic notes passed in the hallways and never speak to me outside of this room. Do you really think I am less intelligent than you? Do you really think I would tell anyone about us?”

Tristan stepped closer. “I don’t know. What did you tell Ser Oswyn today in the garden?”

“You were _spying_ on me?”

“I followed you, yes. I wanted to see your reaction to my note.”

“You followed me. To the garden. And then watched who I spoke to. That’s spying!”

“So?”

“So, you obviously don’t trust me at all! Why did you even ask me to meet you?” Asha folded her arms across her chest. She could feel her face flushing with anger. How _dare_ he! After everything they were to each other!

“I have to be sure of you. If you agree to what I propose, this will be much more dangerous than simple lovemaking between two apprentices.”

“Don’t you dare talk down to me! I can’t believe this…simple love-….ugh!” Asha sputtered in her rage. “If you wanted my help with something, this is a fine way to convince me, Tristan.”

Tristan smirked, which just made her angrier. “This isn’t funny! You are an ass. I’m leaving.” She turned toward the door, still fuming.

“Wait!” Tristan grabbed her by the wrist to stop her. “I’m sorry! You know I didn’t mean it like that. Of course I trust you. It’s not you or anything you’ve done. It’s this damn Circle. It’s the Templars. It’s living in this…this _cage_ for our entire lives!” His tone softened and he rubbed his thumb in small circles against the underside of her wrist, a conciliatory gesture. “I just want out. And I need you. I need your help, but more than that, I want you to be with me. Forever. I…I love you, Ash.”

Asha’s eyes welled with tears and she turned her head to face him. She saw his eyes were wet as well, and her rage and frustration dissipated. She turned around fully, and stroked his cheek with her free hand. He closed his eyes and leaned into her hand.

“I know, Tris. I know. I love you too. Surely you know that by now.”

He shuddered and dropped her wrist to put his arms around her waist. He leaned his forehead against hers, sighing. “You have no idea, Ash. No idea how happy I am to finally hear you say it. I’ve known, but…”

“Shh. I know.”

He kissed her then, gentle, and she returned his gentleness with passion. She was still angry, but that would wait for a minute. After a minute he pulled back and pulled her closer to him. Asha leaned her head against his chest, closing her eyes. She could feel his heartbeat through his robes, pulsing at a quickened pace. She could hardly blame him; her own heart was racing even though she was calmer now.

“I still need you to promise me.”

She sighed. “Tris, I love you. Of course, I promise.”

Asha felt him nod. “Thank you.” He pulled back then so he could look at her, but kept both her hands in his own.

“I figured it out, Ash. How we can escape.”

Asha’s eyes narrowed warily. “No blood magic?”

Tristan smiled. “No. I thought it over again after the last time we talked, and I realized you were absolutely right. Even leaving this place and the thrice-damned Templars behind wouldn’t be worth compromising my soul. It certainly isn’t worth losing you.”

“So what do we do?”

“We need lyrium. A _lot_ of lyrium. Then we can use an old Tevinter ritual that will allow us to _walk through walls._ ”

“What??”

“I’m serious! It will work, I’m sure of it! The theory I read makes sense.”

“Theory? You want us to steal lyrium and try an old spell from _Tevinter_ – the people responsible for the darkspawn, I remind you – based on a _theory??_ ”

“I know, I know! But…this could be our way out! Do you trust me?” His grey-blue eyes were pleading. 

“I don’t know, Tris…It sounds very implausible.”

His grip tightened on her hands. “Please, Ash, do this with me. Do this for me. If you love me, you won’t make me do it alone.”

“I…alright. But we have to be _sure_. Really sure. That this is what we want.”

Tristan’s eyes darkened. “You aren’t sure? You don’t want to leave? You want to stay here, a pretty bird in a cage called to sing at the Templars’ whims for the rest of your life?”

Asha scowled again. “You know that’s _not_ what I meant.”

“I need you with me. I need you to be sure.”

“I’m sure that I love you. I’m sure that I want to be with you, wherever you go, Tris.”

“Then you agree? We will go forward with this plan?”

Asha sighed, closing her eyes. Then she opened them, and resolved herself to the decision. “Yes. What do you need me to do?”

Tristan’s face lit up with joy and he hugged her tightly again. “Nothing for now, dearest. Just wait for me to work out all the details. I will let you know when it’s time.”

Asha hugged him back. She was relieved that the decision was made, their path set before them. But she was worried, too. For them both. 


	4. Ice and Fire

There is a peculiar state of mind that one experiences when waiting for something to happen. This state of mind usually manifests itself in the days leading up to a significant life-changing event: a shift in status so profound that you know your life will never be the same again. You go through your normal day in a haze, almost as if you were watching yourself live your life from the outside, an impartial observer taking notes.

_This could the last time I will wake up in this bed._

_This could be the last time I eat breakfast at this table._

_This could be the last time I see her in the hallway and wave in greeting._

Asha spent the few days following her last meeting with Tristan in such a daze, carrying out her apprentice duties and attending her lessons in a fog of unreality. Each time she did anything – opened a book, penned an essay, answered a question, ate her favorite sweet roll – she did so with the certain knowledge that this would be the last time. Her life in the Circle was about to end.

Tristan remained as outwardly aloof as ever, never speaking to her or meeting her gaze when they chanced to pass in corridors or sit in the same lessons. Asha expected this, but it still irritated her. She hoped she was not alone in feeling anxious, and that he was as worried as she was.

Three days after her last meeting with Tristan, Ser Oswyn found her in the library where she was studying for an exam she was fairly certain she would never sit. “Asha?”

She looked up from her book and smiled faintly. “Ser.”

Ser Oswyn frowned at the icy politeness of her tone. “Are you cross with me? I understand if you are, but be assured I have only your best interests in mind.”

Asha sighed heavily and pushed her book away from her. “I know, Oswyn. I’m sorry. It’s just…I have a great deal going on right now, and I don’t know if I can handle it.” She put her fingers to her temple and rubbed there, hoping to still the throbbing she could feel just beginning. She needed to be getting more sleep.

Ser Oswyn’s frown changed to an expression of concern. He looked around to make sure no one was nearby. Asha had chosen a small corner of the library to study in, secluded behind two enormous bookshelves. He didn’t see anyone, but moved closer and dropped his voice, just in case. “What is it, dear heart? My ability to help you is limited, but I will do anything I can for you.” He put his hand on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her.

Asha smiled a little at that. She knew he took a great risk for something so small as letting her know she was cared for. It was forbidden for the Templars to touch the mages, except in cases of discipline or other extreme circumstances. If anyone were to walk by just now, he would be reprimanded at the very least. She reached a hand up and grasped his for a moment. “It’s nothing, really. Just lessons. It’s very busy just now, I suppose, and I’m feeling slightly overwhelmed.”

“Are you sure that’s all it is?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Why?”

“Because you won’t look me in the eye. You haven’t the whole time I’ve been standing here.”

Asha stiffened. She turned slowly and faced him, her eyes locking on to his. She hoped her face portrayed nothing except understandable weariness and slight affront at his accusation.

Ser Oswyn’s eyes searched her face, his brow growing more and more furrowed as he did so. Asha hated lying to him but there was no other way. Even if he did nothing to stop her – which Asha was almost certain would not be the case, he was far too honorable – he would be in greater trouble with the Order if that inaction were discovered. More than that, she dreaded ever having to see the look on his face if he discovered she was planning to run away. Even if it was more from the Circle than from him, he would not see it that way.

He must have seen something of these thoughts in her face even though she tried to keep them hidden, because his expression went from irritated to concerned. “Asha, please tell me what’s going on. There is something; I can see that. I want to help, if I can.”

Asha blinked back tears and looked away. “It’s just stress, from lessons. I promise.”

Ser Oswyn sighed and rubbed his forehead with one hand. “Well, I suppose there’s no use pressing you about it. You were always stubborn.” He smiled ruefully. “Just know you can come to me if you need to.”

Asha felt safe enough to look at him again. She smiled reassuringly and patted his arm. “Thank you, Oswyn. I know.”

He returned her smile and squeezed her hand briefly. “In any case, I sought you out with a purpose.” The smile widened into a grin that made him look younger and more handsome. Asha found his enthusiasm infectious and started to grin herself.

“What is it?”

“Well, I may have, uh…that is, I thought you might like…I got you a birthday present!” The last of this was said in an awkward rush, and it took Asha a moment to decipher what he had said.

“Oh? Oh!”

Ser Oswyn’s cheeks were flushed. “Yes, well I saw something the last time I was in the market, and well, I knew you rather liked chess, and, well, anyway here it is.” He pulled a small velvet pouch he had tucked behind his boiled leather jerkin and handed it to her. Asha took it and was surprised at its weight. The velvet pouch was a deep purple and closed by use of two drawstrings, which were now looped in a loose knot. She untied them and worked her fingers into the bag. Inside was a rectangular box of cool green marble, with a checkered pattern on flat planes of the bottom and top. It was about the size of her palm, and there was a small copper clasp on one of the longer sides. She pushed gently on the catch and opened the box to reveal a tiny travel chess set, the marble pieces nestled into individual recesses lined with purple velvet to match the pouch. Asha let out a small gasp of surprise and delight. Then she burst into tears.

Ser Oswyn knelt beside her, horrified. His hands hovered in the air around her shoulders, unsure of whether his touch would be a welcome comfort or merely intrusive. Asha made the decision for him by leaning her head against his shoulder as she continued to sob quietly. Ser Oswyn patted her back in small circles, making comforting shushing noises. Eventually he said in a small voice, “I didn’t intend to cause you distress, Asha. I’m sorry.”

Asha lifted her head and began shaking it violently. “No, no, no, don’t apologize, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I love it, I do, it’s just…just…” She dissolved into fresh tears. Still clutching the chess set in one hand, she threw both her arms around his neck. She no longer cared if someone happened to walk by their corner of the library. Ser Oswyn returned her hug, hesitant at first but then holding her tightly. They stayed like that for a moment, and then Asha pulled back and planted a kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you. It’s lovely,” she said, wiping the tears from her cheeks as she tried to get herself under control.

“I…you are welcome,” Ser Oswyn said, still at a loss for words at her unexpected emotional state, and the kiss on the cheek. Barring the incident in the chapel years ago, he wasn’t sure he could recall her ever being this out of control. A sudden thought struck him. “Asha, you aren’t…having problems again, are you? With your magic?”

Asha looked up at him in surprise. “Not that I’ve noticed.” Her eyes lit with understanding. “Oh. You mean this,” she said with a vague gesture towards herself. Ser Oswyn nodded. Asha laughed a little. “You weren’t ever a teenage girl, or you wouldn’t ask that. I’m just…having a bad day, is all. Thank you again for my gift. It was a lovely thought.”

Ser Oswyn was about to reply when he was interrupted by a small cough from someone behind him. He and Asha turned to see Tristan standing there, holding a small scroll in one hand. "Pardon me, Ser. I have a message for Apprentice Asha. From Enchanter Mahariel.” He stepped forward and handed her the scroll, his expression carefully neutral, but his eyes flashing fire when they met hers. Asha took the scroll from him.

“Thank you, Tristan.”

He bowed slightly at the waist and turned on his heel and left. Ser Oswyn watched him go, then turned back to Asha, one brow raised in silent query. Asha didn’t notice him looking at her for a moment; her gaze was rooted to where Tristan’s back had disappeared behind the bookcases a moment before. She shook herself and then looked up at Ser Oswyn, then down at the scroll in her hand. She had accidentally crushed it.

“Oh, probably nothing more than a list of duties for tomorrow. She sometimes sets extra work this way.”

“Have you done something to deserve extra work?”

Asha remembered the horrible essay she had turned in the other day. “Probably. I don’t know. She’s very…exacting in her standards.”

Ser Oswyn nodded. “Hmm. Well I had better leave you to your studies then. Perhaps we can meet in the garden in a day or two, have a match?”

“I would like that very much,” Asha said, smiling. Ser Oswyn bowed and left in the same direction Tristan had taken. Asha waited until she was sure he was gone and then quickly un-crumpled the note in her hand.

_Tonight. Before dawn. Usual place._

No initials this time. He was growing more cautious – or more paranoid. Or both. Asha burned the note with a whispered word and a slight push of will. She swept up the ashes from the table and dusting them off her hands into the corner. She fingered the soft velvet of the pouch Ser Oswyn had given her where she held it in her lap, then stowed it in her satchel with the rest of her study materials. She turned back to her book, making a pretense of continuing to study. It wouldn’t do to rush off now, and she had hours yet before sundown. Her concentration was ruined, however, and she worried about what the next hours would bring.

 

* * *

 

Asha slipped out of her room just before dawn. She brought only her traveling cloak and her satchel, which no longer carried books (well, only a few of her favorites) but a change of clothes and some other items she held dear, the travel chess set from Ser Oswyn among them. She had also managed to smuggle some bread and hard cheese out of the dining hall at supper.

Tristan wouldn’t look at her when she met him in their hidden room. He was pacing again, waiting for her. “You’re later than I’d hoped. We have to hurry so we won’t miss the guard’s shift change.” He grabbed her wrist and began pulling her along with him out of the room. Asha jerked her arm out of his grip and rubbed it where his fingers had dug into her flesh. She was pretty sure she would bruise later.

“What are you doing? Aren’t you even going to tell me what we are doing?”

“You don’t need to do anything but follow my lead and keep quiet. There will be time enough to explain later, when we are free. Now, come on!” He didn’t attempt to grab her again this time, instead simply turning and heading further down the hidden corridor without waiting to see if she would follow. Asha gritted her teeth in irritation but followed him anyway. They were both under a great deal of stress. She was sure things would be back to normal when they got this over with.

They continued down the hidden corridors for some time, sometimes walking, sometimes crouched over, and sometimes crawling through crevices and gaps in the stone. Tristan had summoned a wisp to light their way, but its soft glow was barely enough to see by, and Tristan kept a swift pace. He had obviously practiced taking this route before. Asha stumbled several times but managed to keep from crying out when she banged an elbow or a knee. Who knew who might hear them, who might be just on the other side of these walls?

Finally, he stopped and motioned for her to do likewise. He pressed gently against the stone wall to his right, and a door slid open. There was nothing but darkness beyond. Tristan waved for her to step through first. Asha did so, then reached behind her to give him a hand out. He grasped it and climbed up next to her. They were now in a corridor in the back of the castle, she thought. It didn’t look familiar to her, so it wasn’t anywhere near where the apprentices were permitted to roam. She opened her mouth to ask, but Tristan but a finger to his lips and pulled her forward by her hand.

They crept carefully forward, keeping close to walls. There were no windows in this hallway, but Asha could see the dim light of the pre-dawn sky showing through panes at the end of the corridor. As they crept closer to the windows, Asha could make out a set of stairs leading off to the left. She could also see that they were now on the ground floor of the castle. Presumably the stairs led outside, and to their freedom.

 _But wait, what about the Tevinter ritual?_  Asha tugged on Tristan’s hand to get his attention. He leaned his head towards hers, his face irritated and impatient.

“Where is the lyrium? What are we going to be doing?” she whispered into his ear.

“Don’t worry about that now. We are just leaving. Come on, we’re almost out. Just these stairs and then a door.” He turned to continue.

“Wait!” Asha hissed. This was wrong. He had _lied_ to her! What was he planning? And what was her part?

They reached the stairs and descended swiftly, Tristan in the lead. As they reached the bottom step, gauntleted hands reached out from beyond the doorway and snatched his arms. Asha stumbled forward as his hand was torn from her grasp and dropped her satchel on the ground. More hands grabbed her arms. Tristan was yelling in defiance, then there were screams and the sharp, coppery smell of blood. Asha cried out in fright but couldn’t see what was happening; the hood of her cloak had fallen into her eyes in the scuffle.

She heard more screams and a thud. She shook her head to throw her hood back, and took in the scene before her. One Templar was on the ground, staring glassy-eyed up at the ceiling, blood pooling around the ugly red wound in his neck. Another had been thrown several feet across the circular room and was now struggling with the shade that had been summoned to fight him.

Tristan stood near the middle of the room, crouched and wary, holding a blood-stained dagger in one hand and his staff in the other. His robes were covered in blood – the dead Templar’s, she supposed. Asha’s breath caught in her throat as she saw the last person in the room was Ser Oswyn, standing a few feet from Tristan with his sword still sheathed but loose in its scabbard, his hand on the pommel.

“Boy, this ends here. If you stand down now, I will spare your life, but you will still face judgment.”

Tristan sneered. “I would rather die than have a half-life, Templar! Keep your Rite!” The hand holding the dagger began to move.

The world was ice.

Frozen in crystalline clarity. Every detail, every nuance, brought forward in sharp relief. The swish of the fabric of the skirts of the Templars who held her arms. The pinpricks of pain where the tips of their gauntlets grasped her flesh. The ragged sound of her breathing. The _snick_ Oswyn’s sword made as it was drawn from its scabbard, the glint on the tip of the blade from the early dawn sunlight filtering through the high windows.

Tristan’s eyes, now locked on hers.

In the dim recess of her mind where she was still sane, still aware of a greater reality, Asha knew what was about to happen. She knew she should look away. But her waking mind was not strong enough.

Ser Oswyn stepped toward Tristan. Tristan’s eyes widened as the blade slid in between his ribs, but his gaze never wavered. Asha saw the light go out of his eyes. He slumped to the floor.

The world was ice.

Then the world was _fire._

Heat began spreading from the core of Asha’s being outward, merely warm at first but becoming swiftly more intense to the point of pain. It pulsed with her heart, each beat sending a wave of energy outward from her body. Back in the corner of her mind, she heard that still-sane part of her whisper, _Maker, not again._ But the heat was too powerful. She could not control it.

The Templars holding her by the arms began to feel the waves of energy rolling off her before their gloves grew warm. Their eyes widened as they realized what was happening, but their training kept them steady. They looked at each other and at the same time called upon the reserves of lyrium stored in their blood to send out a cleansing wave of blue mist, negating the magical energy Asha was about to unleash. Though this was enough to prevent her from causing any damage outside of herself, it was not enough to quash the heat inside her completely.

Far away, someone was screaming. Her throat felt raw, and she realized the screams were her own.

The heat continued to build. Flames began eating through her robes, starting just above her heart. Ser Oswyn, who had been standing over the boy he had just murdered, realized what was happening. His sword fell from his hand and clattered to the stone floor. He ran towards her, calling upon his own power. His body crashed into Asha’s, smothering the flames before they could spread further, his power rushing over her, into her as an icy wave, stilling the heat for good.

With the magic temporarily removed from her being, there was nothing to block Asha from sensing her injuries. The flames had not gotten far before Ser Oswyn had intervened, but they had gotten far enough. Her chest, her shoulder, part of her back ceased to exist; to her mind, there was nothing there but pain. The shock of what had just happened combined with the agony of the burns was too much. Asha’s vision began to fade, and the last thing she saw before she slipped into blackness was Ser Oswyn’s face, tears spilling down his cheeks, the handsome features twisted with regret. 


	5. Mages and Templars

_Light. Sunlight. And air – a soft breeze. Someone is laughing, and she laughs with them. She is in a garden. It is summer, and the weather is perfect. A woman in a yellow dress – beautiful – the one laughing. “Mama!” She runs towards her and the woman’s arms pick her up and hold her tight. Kisses cover her face. Happiness._

_Then she is running again, still laughing. Her brother, chasing her through the hedges. She can’t see him, but she hears his laughter and teasing from behind her. She turns a corner and stumbles. “Brod!” There is no answer._

_“Brod! I fell! Help me!” Still no reply. The sky grows darker, but there are no clouds. The breeze loses its gentleness and now carries a chill. She tries to get up but she can’t. “Brod?” She is alone._

_Then another voice. “Asha.”_

_“Brod?”_

_“Asha…Asha…Asha…”The voice starts as a whisper, but grows louder, deepens, fills her head, seems to touch her soul. Her shoulder begins to hurt. The pain is intense. She remembers…vaugely. She isn’t supposed to be here. The hedges disappear. She recognizes she must be in the Fade, must be dreaming. “What are you? Where are you?” she shouts to the wind._

_A figure materializes in the darkness. The edges of the shadow become clearer as it walks closer. Apprentice robes. Brown hair, raggedly cut and unkempt. Storm-blue eyes. He reaches out a hand to her. She begins to raise her hand to take his…_

_“Asha…Asha…Asha!” The pain that was once dim in her mind begins to come forward with a vengance. Someone is shouting, shaking her. “Asha, you must wake!”_

_The figure that resembles Tristan disappears, and the world drops into blackness._

Light. Candlelight. Or a torch. She wasn’t sure. Harsh, after the blackness. She squinted, tried to see. Her shoulder felt at if it were still on fire. She tried to lift her head and moaned at the effort it cost her.

“Asha?”

Her throat was dry, her lips cracked as she tried to move them. “Os-…Osw-…” She swallowed and tried again. “Oswyn?” The word came out as a croak.

“Asha!” He took her hand – the one not attached to the injured shoulder – in one of his and pressed his lips to it. The other he used to smooth her hair back from her forehead. Her eyes have grown more used to the light – from a torch, on the wall – and she can see his face. His brow furrows as he gazes on her, brown eyes crinkled with worry. There is more grey at his temples, she notices. “You were unconcious for more than a day. I was so worried…The Knight-Commander was not inclined to let me visit you, but then you wouldn’t wake. They feared demons…” His eyes met hers. “Did you…dream? Were you in the Fade?”

Asha nodded, and tears began spilling out of the corners of her eyes. “I was _home_. With Mama. And Brod. And then…it changed,” she managed to get out before she started coughing. The spasms cause the pain in her shoulder to flare again, and she moaned.

Ser Oswyn put a cup to her lips and helped her sit up enough to drink a few sips. “Better?” he asked. She nodded again and slumped back onto the cot. For a moment they both were quiet.

“What did you see, Asha? In the Fade?” he prompted her to continue.

“I saw… _him_.” Her voice broke, and fresh tears ran down her temples into her hair. “But it wasn’t him, was it?” Her eyes met his, then flicked to the wall. “Because he’s dead.”

He began smoothing her hair back again. “Yes. I’m sorry. I know he was…important to you. But I had to carry out my duty.”

Asha nodded, unable to speak. She swallowed hard, trying to clear the lump in her throat. She kept staring at the wall as she asked quietly, “How did you know?”

Ser Oswyn wrapped her uninjured hand in both of hers. “I saw the way you looked at him, that afternoon in the library. When he gave you the note. I left, but doubled-back and watched you read it. And then I followed you for the rest of the night. When it became obvious where you were going, I had a few fellows knights circle around with me to cut you off. Asha, you must believe me. I never intended to harm either of you. Never meant to…I’ve never killed anyone before.” His hand squeezed hers, imploring. “Please…forgive me?”

Asha turned to face him, eyes ablaze. “You dare! You dare to spy on me, to follow me, to have me arrested, to _murder my friend_ , and then to ask my forgiveness?!” She was screeching now, past caring about her raw throat and aching shoulder. She jerked her hand out of his and turned back to the wall. “Get out.”

“Asha, I…”

“ _Get out!”_

She heard him sigh, saw his shadow pass on the wall, heard the cell door clang after he exited the cell. She let out the breath she had been holding in a sob. Now life finally matched her dream. She was alone.

*************************

Ser Oswyn leaned his forehead against the cool stone wall of the hallway outside of Asha’s cell and sighed. He expected her reaction, and thought he’d prepared for it. Still, her rejection hurt.  He’d long ago given up trying to remind himself that she was not his daughter, was not his responsibility. It didn’t matter that she was not of his blood; he was just as bound to her. Cared for her just as deeply.

He closed his eyes for a minute, composed himself, and then headed out towards the guard post at the end of the corridor. Tonight it was Ser Jaks and Ser Melton, good men if a bit young and unseasoned. Hence, they were selected for relatively boring jobs like guard duty on a prison that was hardly used. They were playing at cards to pass the time. Their whispers stopped as he approached. 

“Knight-Captain!” They both stood and saluted, arms crossed at the wrists in front of their chests.

“Be at ease, gentlemen. See to it that the girl is given water regularly, and try to get her to eat. She needs to recover her strength. Knight-Commander’s orders.”

“Yes, ser, we will take care of her, ser,” Ser Melton said. He met Ser Oswyn’s gaze. “Pardon me saying so, ser, but we know you care about her. We’ll make sure she heals up nicely.” Ser Jaks nodded his agreement, maybe a touch too eagerly.

Ser Oswyn smiled at that. He had trained these recruits; they were good boys. “Thank you, Melton. I know you will.” He ascended the stairs out of the dungeon and headed toward the Knight-Commander’s office. He was due to give his report to her in just over an hour, judging by the sun he could see through the first-level windows. Better to be early than late.

As he approached the Knight-Commander’s office, her seneschal was walking out. “Knight-Captain Oswyn, the Knight-Commander awaits your attendance. I had just been sent to find you. You may go in at once,” she said in a dull, matter-of-fact way. The sunburst tattooed on her forehead glowed in the morning sunlight. Oswyn bowed very slightly at the waist in her direction and approached the door, where he heard raised voices arguing within. He knocked twice on the office door. A stern voice from inside the room answered, “Enter.”

He had only been inside the Knight-Commander’s office twice, once when he was inducted into the Order and once when he was raised to the rank of Knight-Captain. It was one of the larger rooms in the castle, and was appointed with furnishings that reflected the status of the Knight-Commander’s position in Ostwick. Fine Antivan woven rugs brought warmth to the cold stone floors. In one corner stood what appeared to be a statue of a woman with one hand raised gracefully to the sky; to Oswyn’s admittedly untrained eye, it looked like it could have come from old Tevinter. Most impressive of all was the view of the Amaranthine Ocean from the large picture window that took up most of the back wall. At this time of day, the light reflected off the water and gave the office a bright, cheery feel.

The look on the Knight-Commander Elise’s face was far from bright and cheery, however. She glowered at Oswyn as he entered the office and saluted her. Straightening from where she had been leaning over her desk, she pointed at a chair in front of her. “Sit.”

Oswyn sat. Already seated in the chair next to him was First Enchanter Orin, who had apparently been arguing with the Knight-Commander just moments before. He turned toward Oswyn and gave him a strained smile. Unlike some of the senior enchanters in the Ostwick Circle, the First Enchanter bore the Templars no ill will and strived to maintain a good working relationship with them. Oswyn had worked with him several times over the years and had grown to like the man. He felt a little better about this meeting seeing him here. He nodded in Orin’s direction. “First Enchanter.”

Orin returned his greeting with a nod of his own. “Knight-Captain.”

Knight-Commander Elise cleared her throat. “Knight-Captain Oswyn. It is my understanding that yesterday morning you took it upon yourself to apprehend two apprentices who were attempting to leave the Circle, killing one and injuring the other in the process.” Oswyn opened his mouth to protest but Elise raised her hand. “You will be given a chance to speak when I am finished. Not only did you do this without my permission or authorization, you did this without even informing me of your intentions. Have I not made it clear that I am to be informed of any happenings within this Circle concerning the possible apostasy of our charges?”

Oswyn kept his mouth shut until the pause grew long enough it was clear the question was not rhetorical. “Yes, Knight-Commander, that has always been your policy,” he replied evenly.

“Then would you care to tell me why you – and the men you ordered to help you – never sent word to me, my seneschal, or to the First Enchanter of what you suspected was happening?”

“I had every intention of telling you, Knight-Commander. However, I did not wish to cause unnecessary harm or distress by making a false accusation. By the time my suspicions were confirmed, they were already on the move. I take full responsibility for my actions and those of my men. They were following my orders and are not at fault.”

“On that we quite agree. This is _all_ your fault, as I see it, Knight-Captain.”

“Elise…” First Enchanter Orin tried to interrupt.

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “No, this Templar is under my command and I will deal with this how I see fit. You are here only to assist with the decision of what to do with the apostate, First Enchanter, nothing more.”

Orin frowned at her tone, but subsided into silent contemplation, fingers steepled in front of his lips as if to prevent himself from speaking unwisely. Elise returned her attention to Oswyn, whose face was beginning to flush with anger and frustration.

“Knight-Captain, your relationship with that girl has always been unwise, but I have allowed it because of your impeccable service record and your ability to lead and train the recruits. But it stops now. She has clouded your judgment and put you, herself, and this entire Circle in danger. Not to mention the fact that your actions have reflected poorly on my command. You are to be stripped of your captaincy and returned to the rank of Knight-Corporal until you have proven yourself loyal to the Order, and to me, once more.”

The implication that he was disloyal was too much. “I have never been anything but faithful to the Order, and to my vows! What I did, I did to protect those mages from themselves! They were young and foolish, and I did not think it would go that far. Punish me as you see fit, Knight-Commander, but I will not bear the accusation of disloyalty in silence!”

“Sit _down_ , Knight-Corporal.” Oswyn looked down and was surprised to see he had stood sometime while he was speaking. He sat down again, slowly, and stared at the rug beneath his feet to regain his composure. Elise sighed, her shoulders sagging as her breath went out. Oswyn looked up at the sound, but the disappointment in her eyes caused him to flush with shame and look back down again.

“I had such hopes for you, Oswyn, but my judgment stands. Please don’t make this worse than it is.” She turned to Orin. “Now, about the apostate.”

Oswyn flinched every time she referred to Asha that way. He kept his head down and listened.

“Elise, I do not believe she is truly an apostate. I have yet to speak with her myself, the healers have said we must give her time to rest. But based on her exemplary behavior up until yesterday’s incident and the recommendation of Enchanter Marhariel, it is my belief she was merely acting at the direction of the boy Tristan,” First Enchanter Orin began.

“So, she is merely thrall to a blood mage, then. The result is the same.”

Orin held up one hand. “I do not believe so. While she was acting according to his wishes, it is more likely she was simply a love-struck girl trying to please her lover. While the boy did engage in blood magic at the end, his attempt was inept and sprang from his desperation and anger at perceived injustices.”

“This is your final judgment of the matter?”

“It is, Elise.” First Enchanter Orin remained completely calm throughout this exchange. Oswyn envied the man’s composure. Elise rubbed her forehead as she considered the First Enchanter’s words. She sighed again and dropped her hand.

“The way forward is unclear to me. What is your suggestion, Orin?”

“I suggest we offer her the same choice we offer all mages: undergo the Rite of Tranquility, or face her Harrowing.”

Oswyn shot back to his feet. He could not bear to think of Asha becoming like the young woman he had just met in the hallway. Her beauty, her fire, snuffed out forever. “Knight-Commander, you can’t! She isn’t nearly of age for the Harrowing, and also far too young to have her soul ripped from her!”

“Knight-Corporal! You will contain yourself! I am allowing your presence here out of sympathy for your attachment to this girl, as unwarranted and inappropriate it may be. Do not try my patience!”

“But you have to listen! You cannot punish a girl for being in love! Especially when it was our fault – _my fault_ – she was allowed to carry on this affair in the first place! We should have been more vigilant, should have watched the apprentices more closely! It isn’t right to force her to take her Harrowing when she isn’t ready!”

“Knight-Corporal!”

But Oswyn wasn’t ready to slow down yet. “Maybe if we reconsidered how we treat our charges, instead of blaming them for everything they do, these things wouldn’t -- !”

“That is _enough,_ Oswyn!” Knight-Commander Elise shouted him down. “Do you wish to be stripped of your knighthood and banished as well?”

Oswyn tried to slow his breathing, control his temper. He was only making this worse. For himself and for Asha. “No, Knight-Commander. I beg your pardon for speaking out of turn.”

Elise nodded in acceptance of his apology. “Very well. Take your seat. You were saying, First Enchanter?”

“Yes, Knight-Commander. Although she is young, and not finished with her apprenticeship, this seems to be the only solution I can think of that is both fair and protects the Circle as a whole. If she faces her Harrowing and passes, she is proven to have not been in thrall to blood magic or demons, and can be made a full mage. If she refuses the Harrowing, she will be made Tranquil, and therefore she will not a danger. If she fails, which would be the most unfortunate outcome, she will die and again not be a danger to anyone else.”

Knight-Commander Elise considered this, then nodded. “You speak sense, Orin. Thank you. Take some Knights and see that it is done. Today.”

Orin nodded and stood. He bowed to Knight-Commander Elise. “As you command. If I may make one request?”

She regarded him curiously and motioned for him to continue.

“I would like to request that this young man be among the Knights I take to prepare and perform the Rite or the Harrowing, whatever her choice may be.”

Oswyn raised his head, suddenly hopeful. He met the First Enchanter’s eyes and the older man gave him a barely perceptible wink.

“Absolutely not. He is already too attached. In fact, I do not wish him to be in the same room with her again. He is to be transferred to another chapter of the Order forthwith.”

This news hit Oswyn like a punch to the stomach. He fought to keep his face neutral and let the First Enchanter speak.

“All the more reason to allow this last favor, then. If he will be gone from us in the morning, at least let him be present as we decide the fate of the one for whom he has sacrificed so much. If nothing else, it will provide closure and prevent future problems, and it will also show the younger Knights you are not an unfeeling monster.” Orin said this last as matter-of-factly as he could manage.

“Bah! Un-feeling monster? They do not really say such things, do they?”

“I have heard…rumor, Knight-Commander. Rumor I believe to be unfounded and that I put a stop to when it comes to my attention. I implore you to not prove me mistaken.”

She closed her eyes in defeat. “Fine. Take him and go. But I want this done before sunset. And you,” she pointed at Oswyn. “I am arranging for your transfer. You will see this through, and then gather your belongings and prepare to leave. Report to me when you are done.”

Ser Oswyn saluted again, still struggling to keep his face neutral as he followed the First Enchanter out of the office. As soon as the door shut behind him, he stopped First Enchanter Orin by laying a hand on his shoulder. “Thank  you, First Enchanter. That was more than I deserve.”

Orin turned and looked at him over his shoulder. His smile was sad. “Do not thank me yet young man. What comes next might be exactly what you deserve. And it will be painful, no matter the outcome.” He gently shrugged off Oswyn’s hand and continued down the corridor towards the dungeons, Oswyn following behind.

 

 


	6. The Harrowing

Asha hissed as the healer finished checking her now-mostly healed wounds. The woman gave her a sympathetic look but continued with her work. When she was finished, she patted Asha’s hand. “There now. They look much better today, and you’ve avoided infection. You will have scars, though, I’m afraid. Burns are the hardest things to heal properly, even with the aid of magic.”

Asha nodded. She heard the woman but didn’t care about the meaning of her words. Nothing mattered now. She was slightly puzzled by the fact that they were taking the time to heal her; she had assumed she would be taken before the Knight-Commander for judgment and then summarily executed. Or made Tranquil.

The thought hit her with what should have been a wave of horror, but she couldn’t muster the strength of will necessary for that. It was not the first time she had considered it. She had been in this cell for days, at least, with nothing to do but lie in her cot and stare at the ceiling. The only breaks in the monotony were the visits from the Tranquil who fed her her meals and the healer, but Asha had spoken to no one since Ser Oswyn had left.

Thinking of him made her grimace. The healer must have assumed it was from the pain. “It will fade with time, dear.” She patted Asha’s hand again and then left the cell, taking the Templar guard who had been supervising the visit with her. Asha heard her report to someone from down the hallway, but barely.

“She can be moved, if you must. But she is still in a great deal of pain. I would suggest a few more days rest, at least…” The healer’s voice dwindled as she moved further away from Asha’s cell.

 _Let them come_ , Asha thought. _At least if I’m Tranquil I won’t  care about being in pain. Or about anything._ She smiled ruefully to herself. _Not much to change, I guess._

She  figured that if she were to meet her end sometime soon, and soon was what the healer’s report indicated, she might as well do it with some dignity. Asha pushed herself up into a sitting position, groaning anew at the effort. Not only did the movement hurt her burned left shoulder, but muscles stiff from recent lack of use protested vehemetly at their sudden call to action. Gritting her teeth, Asha swung her legs off the side of the cot one at a time. Even though it hurt, it felt good to being doing _something_. She hadn’t expected that.

The good feeling underneath the pain kept her going. Asha put her right hand out against the wall and used it to steady herself as she stood up for the first time since the night she was caught. She stayed like that for a minute, leaning against the wall, just relishing being out of that damn cot. Asha hadn’t realized how much she’d hated lying there for days on end until she stood up. She let out a small breath of laughter. _How many times during lessons did I dream of laying about in bed for days with nothing to do?_

She was wondering if she should try to take a few steps when she heard the clunking of boots headed towards her cell. They’d reported to the Knight-Commander, then. Asha’s heart beat a little faster with the knowledge that this could be one of the last moments of her life. Dead or Tranquil. This was the day it was decided.

The clunking drew closer and then stopped. Her cell door swung open on squeaking hinges. Ser Oswyn and two other Templars stood in the doorway. _Of course it would be him_.

“Under orders from Knight-Commander Elise, you are to be taken to the Harrowing chamber and put through the rite. The same choice will be given you that is given any mage: take the Harrowing and pass, and you will be inducted in the Circle as a full mage. Fail, and you will die. Or you may refuse and undergo the Rite of Tranquility.” Ser Oswyn kept his face carefully neutral as he spoke, but his voice hitched slightly on the word “die.” Asha pretended not to notice.

 _The Harrowing?_ This was not an option she thought open to her. She was too young, for one thing. For another, she had not expected the Knight-Commander to be merciful enough to give an almost-apostate mage the chance to redeem themselves. A glimmer of hope grew unbidden in the recesses of her mind where some part of her still cared to live.

Asha straightened her shoulders and stood up to her full height. Her hand still touched the wall, steadying her. “Am I to make my choice now?”

“You will announce your decision when we arrive, in the presence of the First Enchanter and another mage, who will serve as witnesess.”

Asha nodded and removed her hand from the wall. “I am ready.”

Ser Oswyn, face still void of expression, moved towards her and took her by her uninjured right arm.  His grip was firm, but not coercive, offering the support she needed to walk. He led her up and out of the dungeons, towards the Harrowing chamber on the first floor of the castle. The two younger Templars followed. Asha couldn’t remember their names right away, but she knew that they were two recruits Ser Oswyn had trained personally.

The sunlight coming in the large picture windows in the hallway, doubly bright from being reflected off the waters of the Waking Sea, hurt Asha’s eyes after so long in her cell. She blinked to clear the spots in her vision, but otherwise refused to show discomfort. She realized that once she had begun walking, it had become as easy as before she had been injured more quickly than she had expected. She ventured a question. “How long was I in that cell, Ser?”

“A little more than a day.”

 _A day? That was all?_ Asha was sure it had been much longer. It had felt like an eternity. She nodded once in acknowledgement of his answer, outwardly calm. Inside, her head swam with confusion. _No._ Asha took everything that could distract her – her anger, her pain, her bewilderment – and put it all into a tightly locked box in the back of her mind. She would pass her Harrowing. She would redeem herself. She would carry on, for Tristan’s sake.

They arrived at the Harrowing chamber. First Enchanter Orin was there, accompanied by Enchanter Mahariel and Enchanter Lydia, as well as some of the other mages. Enchanter Mahariel’s usually stern expression was replaced by one of great sorrow and disappointment. Asha met her eyes and looked away quickly. 

The First Enchanter stepped forward as they entered the room. Ser Oswyn handed Asha over to him, probably thinking she still needed support to stand. Asha shrugged off the First Enchanter, determined to face this on her own.

“Apprentice, you understand what is being asked of you?”

“Yes, First Enchanter.”

“You understand the choices before you?”

“Yes, First Enchanter.”

“Very well. You must now declare before witnesses: do you choose to face the Harrowing, at the risk of death if you fail, or do you choose to willingly surrender your magic and live the remainder of your life as a Tranquil?”

“I choose to undergo the Harrowing, First Enchanter.” Asha swallowed, then continued with the words every apprentice was taught they were to say when this day came. “I hereby absolve whichever Templar has to end my life, should it come to that, of any guilt for my death. I choose the Harrowing and its possible consquences of my own free will.” She very carefully avoided looking at Ser Oswyn, keeping her eyes fixed on the First Enchanter.

He nodded, his face solemn, and motioned for the other mages to move forward. Enchanter Mahariel poured the lyrium into the silver basin next to Asha. It glowed brightly in the dimness of the room, painting all their faces blue and casting their features into sharp relief. Asha stepped closer, slightly mesmerized by the lyrium’s almost life-like quality, and slowly reached her hand into the basin. As soon as her hand touched the surface, there was a brilliant flash and she could feel herself falling – then nothing.

*******************************  


_Light. Sunlight. And air – a soft breeze. Someone is laughing, and she laughs with them. She is in a garden. It is summer, and the weather is perfect. A woman in a yellow dress – beautiful – the one laughing. “Mama!” She runs towards her and the woman’s arms pick her up and hold her tight. Kisses cover her face. Happiness._

_It seems familiar._ Have I been here before? _Asha wonders. She tries to remember where she was before, what she was supposed to be doing, but her thoughts slip in and out of her head like minnows in a swift-moving stream._

_Then she is running again, still laughing. Her brother, chasing her through the hedges. She can’t see him, but she hears his laughter and teasing from behind her. She turns a corner and stumbles. “Brod!” There is no answer._

_“Brod! I fell! Help me!” Still no reply._ Broderick…I haven’t seen him in years. Why is he here now? _Asha struggles to maintain her concentration. Something is not right. Nothing about this feels right. What is going on?_

_The sky grows darker, but there are no clouds. The breeze loses its gentleness and now carries a chill. She tries to get up but she can’t. “Brod?” She is alone._

******************************

In the Harrowing chamber, Ser Oswyn cradled Asha’s head in his lap as she jerked and moaned, lost in her dream. He watched her face carefully for any sign of possession, willing her to wake up, to return to him whole.

*******************************

_Then another voice. “Asha.”_

_Asha freezes in place. She knows that voice. And when it speaks, she remembers._

_“Asha…Asha…Asha…”The voice starts as a whisper, but grows louder, deepens, fills her head, seems to touch her soul. Her shoulder begins to hurt. The pain is distracting, but it helps to anchor her. It is the only thing still real here. The hedges disappear. Asha turns towards the sound of the voice._

_A figure materializes in the darkness. The edges of the shadow become clearer as it walks closer. Apprentice robes. Brown hair, raggedly cut and unkempt. Storm-blue eyes. He reaches out a hand to her. Asha moves a step backward. Her face is angry, defiant. “Your arrogance blinds you. You could not have picked a less-appropriate form. He is dead. You are a demon.”_

_The figure laughs then, shaking its head. “Oh my Asha, you always refused to see the truth before your eyes. I am no demon. I am he that loved you. He that loves you still.”_

_Asha shakes her head. “No. I saw you use blood magic. I saw you kill a Templar. I saw you cut down.” She looks away from the figure. “It was the worst moment of my life.”_

_“That is what you think you saw. The spell I used in that moment kept my soul in the Fade, waiting for you. I predicted that the Templars would force you to submit to the Harrowing. I had to see you, once last time. To explain.”_

_“Your mouth is a fountain of lies, demon. I will hear no more.” Asha turns from him, meaning to walk away. The figure grabs her wrist. Its thumb begins to rub in small circles. Asha gasps as the familiar touch floods her with memories of stolen glances and hushed whispers. Slowly, she turns back to meet his eyes. Those beautiful, storm-blue-grey eyes. Asha loses herself in them, starts to believe that maybe…maybe the figure isn’t lying. Happiness fills her at the thought of seeing him again, being with him again. She thought he was lost to her forever. In this world, anything seems possible._

*******************************

First Enchanter Orin’s brow furrowed with worry. He touched Ser Oswyn gently on the shoulder. “Knight-Corporal…”

“No! We will wait. She will make it.”

“It has been longer than necessary already.”

Ser Oswyn shook him off and pulled Asha closer to him. She moaned again. “I will not give up on her so easily.”

*******************************

_“Ash.”_

_Asha doesn’t reply, still lost in his eyes, still trying to sort out the truth from the lies._

_“Ash, I need you to help me. I can’t stay like this forever. My soul isn’t strong enough to withstand the Fade for long. I need more…permanent solutions.”_

_And with that, the spell was broken. Asha rips her hand from the figure’s grasp. “Clever, demon. You almost had me. But that was too obvious.” She summons her will and flames spring to life around her hands. She notes dimly that the flames were green._

_The figure wearing Tristan’s face snarls. “You will bow to me, mage. I will have you. I will enter your world, whether you like it or not.”_

_“Your kind always takes losing so poorly.” Asha throws her hands towards the demon, channels of bright green flame running down the lengths of her arms and striking it square in the chest. The creature screams in agony and begins to charge forward. Asha screams in response, in defiance, and channels more of her will and her rage into the fire in her hands._

_It is enough. The creature’s screams turn to wails, and its form dissipates like mist before the wind. Asha collapses, panting from the effort. Shadows begin to form at the edges of her vision. She lays over on her side, her task finished, her sorrow complete. She is content to never move again. The shadows gather, and soon she can see nothing at all._


End file.
